The Year of Killjoy
by Sirius Finthor
Summary: It's Science Fiction, and it's really hardcore. It has some romance, lots of killing, lots of bloodgore, extremely coarse language. Basically, it's everything I've ever read put into a jumble, then turned into a story.


**The Year Of Killjoy**

by

Sirius Finthor

Author's Notes: The real title for this story is **The Year of the Bastard**, but since the title has to be G-rated, I can't submit it without changing the title. Also, I have to thank my step-dad Wayne for editing it, otherwise, it would be pretty crappy looking. So… now I'm going to shut up and let you read on and all I ask of you is that you review it and tell what you think. So, READ NOW!

**Prologue**

New Year's Day. When people make resolutions to get better at something, or to quit smoking, or something small like that. My resolution that fateful year was that that year, 2019, was my year. The Year of the Bastard. I'm a bastard. I have no true father, nor did I ever have one, even when he wasn't buried beneath six feet of dirt. He had been a cop, and a crooked one at that. But a crooked cop wasn't uncommon in this city; in fact, it was a sadly true fact. Basically every cop here is crooked as a Columbian drug lord, and some are even more crooked than that.

Anyway, he had had a problem with booze, cocaine, and gambling. He got drunk one night and slept with a prostitute out of one of the many local whorehouses. My mom. She got pregnant with me, and when she gave birth to me, she dropped me on Dad's front step like I was a psychotic killer baby, and I haven't seen her since. Not that I want to see that disgusting whore, anyway. My father died right after I turned thirteen, in a drug bust. He was shot by the men serving under him. He had been paying one of the local drug dealers for his cocaine, and had forgotten that there was going to be a raid that day.

Even though he was crooked, he still had some of the innocent and youthful goodness left buried somewhere in his heart. He had tried to raise me right, to teach me right from wrong, and to try and make sure I wouldn't end up like another drug-addicted person in this crime ridden city. I cried when I found out what had happened to him, out of both sorrow for him and pity for myself. This meant I was going to an orphanage, since I knew only too well that the social security people would never waste their precious time to shoot up and get drunk trying to track down a poor little orphaned boy's mother and try and force her to take me in.

So I was sent to Sir Poncier's Orphanage, the city's local orphanage. I knew that few people in this city would adopt a teenager, and the few that would couldn't afford to have children, since they would be the few that didn't involve themselves in crime, so therefore, they would have no way to support an extra mouth. I ran away after the tenth day in that living hell. I wasn't alone; I had made a few friends before I escaped. There were three that escaped with me. There was Hawk, who befriended me the day I arrived. We call him Hawk because he has the eyes of one. He can spot a genuine Rolex from a block away and can tell the difference between real diamonds and fake ones in a single glance. Then there's Sniper. He was a loner, at least until I met up with him. He's an expert marksman and an adept pickpocket. He was trained from the age of seven by his father, a Navy SEALS sniper, who abandoned him when he was twelve. And then there's Tinker. She's faster than a bolt of lightning, and loves tinkering with cars and computers. They only know me as Killjoy, cause I'm serious and deadly.

I was seventeen then, with a price on my head large enough for a person to retire early and live luxuriously in a penthouse suite and still have enough to buy around ten pounds of cocaine a day. I had been a bad little boy, in a city full of drugs, crime, and sex, and this is the story of my year; The Year of the Bastard.

**Day 1, January 01, 2019**

Killjoy threw himself to the side as bullets slammed into the wall where he had stood only moments before. He rolled and drew himself up into a low crouch, thumbing the safety on his rifle off as he did so. He heard a man swearing darkly under his breath, and then another ask, "Did we get him?" A grim smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he mouthed, "Not yet, boys. Not yet." With the dust from the weak plaster walls filling the already murky and dust-filled air, it was impossible for him to see his hand even if he held it inches from his face, but he could and would use this to his advantage. He didn't need his eyes to get around like the men did; he had planned this strike himself and had memorized the building's layout down to the number of stairs in each flight.

Edging his way along the wall to the right, he slung his assault rifle over his shoulder for better maneuverability. There was a shuffling of feet and a blinding flash of muzzle fire as a three round burst tore its way deep into the wall not five inches from his helmeted head. He pressed his back up against thin plaster partition, then dived away swearing loudly as the flimsy wall began to tip over. With a huge crash, the crumbling plaster smashed on the floor and shattered, sending shards of plaster and other such shrapnel flying directly into the clustered group of men. One of the men screamed that he'd been hit in the neck and that it was bleeding badly. Killjoy swung around to the noise and leveled his rifle in the direction of the voice, waiting for the man to give himself away and confirm Killjoy's guess at his position. He quickly adjusted his combat helmet, and then activated the hearing enhancer in the helmet through a neural implant.

The wounded man whimpered, then shut up when another man hit him over the back of the head. Killjoy's finger tightened on the hair-trigger of his rifle as he shifted his body so he could move in a moment's notice. He pulled the trigger, then hurled himself to the left, bullets impacting the floor where he had been crouching. He heard a weapon jam and a man swear as he ejected the jammed round, which hit the floor with an echoing _ping_. There was more shuffling of feet and a grunt.

"Gerver's gone. Round straight through his head," one man whispered.

"Good. More for us when we get this kid," another responded.

"You mean if we get this kid," the first replied nervously, his hoarse voice barely audible.

"We'll get him. We'll get the damn bastard."

There was a slight crackle of static in Killjoy's right ear as one of his teammates tried to contact him, nearly making him jump in surprise.

"Killjoy, I am in position. Repeat, I am in position. I'm looking straight down at the dumbass bounty hunters. Over."

"Good job, Tinker. How many are there left standing, and what are their locations compared to mine? Over," Killjoy whispered as he slowly wiped the dust on his helmet's face plate away.

"Hmmm… I can only make out two that are still standing. One of the idiots is directly in front of you by about ten or eleven feet. The other is about four or five feet to his left and around two or three feet closer to you. There is one bounty hunter on the floor, but I don't think he'll be getting up again. Over."

"Okay. I'll take the one directly ahead of me. You take the other. Put it in his head if you can. Alert me when you're ready for the takedown. And, Tink? Be careful. Over."

"Gotcha loud and clear, boss man. You won't have to wait much longer. This is Tinker signing off."

He sighed, then shook his head to clear it, and adjusted his grip on his rifle. Before he could pull his weapon up to bear, there was the sound of plaster bouncing off the walls of the dilapidated stairwell and the loud clanging of metal falling. A slender black rope fell out of nowhere and hit the floor with a muted thud, soon followed by an assault rifle exactly the same as his that narrowly missed his head by only a few centimeters.

Cursing, he drew his pistol with his left hand and dived out at the two bounty hunters. He opened fire with both weapons as he flew through the clogged air, hoping against hope that the men had been so surprised by the rifle and rope that they had not moved and that he would hit his targets. There was a gurgle, which was followed by a man's grunt and"Oof!" as the bullets tore into each of the men's bodies. As the floor came up to greet Killjoy from his dive, there were two solid thuds as the two grown men crashed to the floor.

Killjoy slid on his chest when he landed, then hoisted himself up off the filthy floor, and ejected the spent magazines from both his pistol and assault rifle, then slammed a full one into each weapon and cocked the guns. He holstered the pistol, then quickly grabbed the guns dropped by the three bounty hunters and the rifle and rope that had fallen, then patted down the bodies for any hidden weapons, extra ammunition, or whatever else he could find, stuffing the useful equipment into his rucksack. He pocketed their money and wallets, and then made his way to the rickety staircase.

He was about to place his foot down on the bottom step when he noticed the hair thin trip wire connected to a fragmentation grenade. He thought about stepping over the trap, then decided it might come in handy, or if he had to backtrack this way, it might slip his mind. He dropped to one knee and began dismantling the explosive device. Sweat rolled down his forehead and into his eyes as he carefully wrapped combat repair tape around the grenade's handle. Praying that the tape would keep the frag from exploding, he removed the trip wire. He disarmed the frag grenade and stuffed it in with the rest of the gear. He bounded up the stairs four at a time until he heard a slight grunt. He turned and drew his pistol, then put it back into its holster, and dashed to the railing.

"What took you so damn long? I can barely hang on," Tinker muttered.

"Business. Had to finish up with a few clients," responded Killjoy darkly.

"Whatever. Just get me up before my arms pop out of their sockets."

He planted his foot against the base of the low mortar railing as he wrapped his hands around her wrists. Nodding to her, he heaved her upward onto the landing, where she sat and leaned against the wall. Killjoy handed her the rifle that had dropped, which she gratefully took and examined carefully.

"Have you heard from Hawk or Sniper? Are they ready to extract?" Killjoy asked.

"Umm…yeah. I heard from them around fifteen minutes ago. Hawk said they're pretty sure they got him," she responded.

"Damn it!" he swore crossly.

"Hawk, Sniper, pick up, either of you two. I repeat, pick up, either of you two," he ordered over his COM link.

"Hawk here. What can I do you for, chief man?" came Hawk's boyish voice.

"Hawk, can you confirm the kill? Is he dead or not?" Killjoy asked.

"Yep. Snipe put four rounds through his head. If he ain't dead after that, then I'm a rabid aardvark," Hawk answered with a slight chuckle.

"Okay. Salvage any useful items you can find, then meet Tink and me on the roof. We got about five minutes before this place becomes a cop hangout. We have to be out of this hell hole before the cops roll in or we're screwed. Affirmative?"

"Aye, aye, cap'n!" Hawk roared into the COM link.

Killjoy rolled his eyes, then nodded to Tinker and started up the stairs. Tinker shot past him and nearly knocked him to the floor, her body basically a blur in the dim lighting. When he reached the rooftop, she was waiting there impatiently for him, her foot tapping rapidly as she leaned up against the air vents. He motioned for her to stop tapping and to crouch down, then crouched himself, readying his rifle in case of unexpected and most definitely unwanted company.

A few moments later, Hawk and Sniper pulled themselves up and over the small railing lining the rooftop. In the distance, police sirens blared, closing in on the small group of renegades. As one, the four backed up, then dashed to the edge of the building and leaped, clearing the small gap with ease. They landed running on the hard, brick roof, and split up, Hawk and Tinker zip-lining on a steel wire they had placed there before the mission through a window to dash up the stairs of an adjacent apartment building. Sniper dropped to one knee and began aiming at the approaching law enforcement vehicles.

Four shots in rapid succession boomed in report of the sniper rifle and the sound of cars sliding and crashing into each other rang sweetly in Killjoy's ears.

"There. That'll keep them screwed for a couple hours. I put a hole straight through the engine block of the first four cruisers," Sniper muttered with a grim smile on his face.

"Good work. Contact Hawk and tell him that we're going to execute Delta Plan this time. Also tell him that he and Tinker need to meet us at Ferdan's, on the roof. Oh yeah, while you're at it, see if you can get their current location," Killjoy replied.

"Yes, sir. I'll get right on it," Sniper responded with a curt nod.

Killjoy cast a glance at Sniper and smiled at the diligent marksmen. He realized that was what he loved about Sniper so much: his military assertiveness, how he always gave no-bullshit assessments and answers, and how if he was given an order to do something, he put down whatever he was doing right away and did what needed to be done. Killjoy nodded inwardly and put a hand on Sniper's shoulder as he contacted Hawk.

"Hawk, pick up. This is Sniper. Over."

"Long time, no see! How ya doin' ole buddy?"

"Cut the crap, Hawk. We have a mission, so when we finish it, then you can fuck around. Until then, focus. Delta Plan is a go. I repeat, Delta Plan is a go. You and Tinker are to meet us on the roof at Ferdan's. Did you get all that?"

"Yep. Delta Plan is a go, Tink and I meet with y'all on the roof at Ferdan's. Anything else I should know about?"

"Killjoy has requested your current position. Where are you two?"

"Uhhh…we're on an apartment rooftop, about a mile or so to go till we reach Ferdan's."

"Check in when you reach Ferdan's or if you run into any trouble. Sniper out."

Sniper looked over at Killjoy and nodded, then picked up his sniper rifle and slung it over his shoulder. Killjoy pulled the magazine on his own rifle out and checked it, then, satisfied that is was full and wouldn't jam, slammed it home into the rifle and yanked the gun's charging lever back, feeding a round into the chamber. He slung it over his shoulder and pulled a data pad out of his rucksack. He turned the pad on and selected a file, then accessed a map within the file. A red "X" marked where he stood, while Ferdan's was highlighted blue with the label "Ferdan's Fine Italian" hovering over it. He quickly assessed the situation, then shoved the pad back into his pack and motioned for Sniper to follow him. He set off at a sprint and leaped to the next building, and continued across the rooftops, with Sniper directly behind him.

After a few minutes, the two reached a snag they hadn't expected. The roof of the building they were on was at least ten feet lower than any of the ones that surrounded it.

"Shit!" Killjoy swore.

"No worries, boss. I think I know a way already," Sniper reassured him.

"How?" Killjoy asked, clearly stumped.

"You have that rope clipped to your belt, still?"

"Yeah," Killjoy responded.

"Hand it here."

Killjoy unclipped the rope and tossed it to Sniper, who caught it and placed it on the ground next to him. He then pulled his rucksack off his back and began to hum as he dug through the bag. Killjoy cocked his head to the side quizzically, curious to see what Sniper was searching for.

"Ahhh…yes. Here it is," said Sniper with a grin as he held up an odd looking shaft about a foot long, with grooves shaped like arrows in three places, and a ring at the bottom.

"Uhhh… What the hell is that thing? And where'd you get it?"

"I was like that when I first saw it, too. At least, until I figured it out," Sniper said, a mischievous grin plastered on his face. He pressed a hidden button on the shaft and the arrow shaped grooves popped out to become the prongs of a grappling hook. Killjoy jumped back in surprise, then laughed with Sniper.

"You nearly pissed your pants! But, anyway, I picked it up off a bounty hunter," he said, still chuckling from his little trick.

"Good. Okay, we need to get moving now."

Sniper nodded, not at all surprised by Killjoy's jump from laughing with him to being serious. He picked up the rope and threaded it through the hole on the grappling hook until the hook was at the middle of the rope. He then stood up and swung it over his head, then released it and let it fly towards the closest rooftop. The hook soared through the air and landed on the roof with a metallic clang. Sniper slowly pulled it towards himself until the prongs caught on an unseen object. He yanked on it with all his considerable might, and then decided that it was firmly in place. He handed one end of the rope to Killjoy and collected his rucksack.

The two took their places on the edge of the roof, then nodding to each other, leaped off, screaming like demons and holding on to the rope for dear life. The wall zoomed up to greet them as they slammed into the merciless and unyielding bricks. Gritting their teeth against the pain that coursed through their bodies, they started on the climb up the building. Finally, after what had seemed to be an eternity, the two pulled themselves up and over the edge of the rooftop, where the two laid for several minutes. The two struggled to stand up, their bodies protesting, and collected the rope and the grappling hook.

"That…was fucking insane! What the hell were you thinking?" yelled Killjoy, his voice giving away his enjoyment of the challenge.

"I wasn't thinking, sir. I was doing," he replied.

Killjoy grinned, then jerked his head in the way they needed to go. Sniper nodded and took off across the rooftops. Killjoy dashed after him, savoring the thrill of the chase the whole way. A little while later, the two arrived at Ferdan's rooftop.

"What the hell took you so damn long? We've been waiting here for like an hour!" Tinker yelled.

"Whatever it was, it can wait till later. We need to get back to the base," Hawk said, then pointed to the setting sun. "Otherwise, we'll run into the Nightcrawlers. Then we'll just be chopped liver and shark bait."

The other three nodded, then stashed their rifles in duffle bags that were ridden under an air vent. Killjoy pulled his data pad out and tapped a series of commands into the pad. He quickly entered the password and hit the send option. Suddenly, a trio of hovercycles appeared in front of Killjoy. He smiled and a pulled a long, black trench coat on.

"Finally! We get to go home!"

"Shut up, Hawk. I have got to get my own 'cycle. I can't stand riding with Hawk!" muttered Tinker.

Killjoy shook his head, then slipped the pad back into his rucksack, which he stuffed into his duffle bag. He hoisted the bag up and slung it over his shoulder, then sat down on his hovercycle.

"Are we ready to go?" he asked the others.

"Come on! I'm hungry as a Nightcrawler," moaned Hawk.

"You're always hungry. Ready," muttered Tinker.

"Let's go," responded Sniper.

Killjoy nodded, then kicked the starter on his 'cycle. The bike shuddered, then hummed with energy, waiting to be released. He held the brake down as he turned the throttle open wide.

"Last one back has to cook the food and clean up!" he yelled over the roar of the motors.

He suddenly let off the brake and shot forward, catching the others by surprise. He dived straight down and took to the street, weaving in and out of the speeders and city transports that clogged the streets. He threw a glance over his shoulder and saw that Sniper and the others were on the sidewalk and gaining on him every second. He grinned at the challenge and examined the path ahead, looking for a way to regain his advantage. He spotted a group of hoverboarders using a mini half pipe ramp to go straight up into the air. Whooping loudly, he sped over to the ramp and opened the throttle on his 'cycle even wider.

He hit the ramp and began riding up the wall. He coaxed his 'cycle to go faster, then threw another glance over his shoulder. The others were staring at him in total disbelief. He gave them a one-fingered salute, then turned back forward and pulled up. He quickly righted the bike and crouched lower over the controls, his coat flying out behind him. He descended back down to the ground and pulled a hard right. He entered a parking garage, but didn't slow down there. The ramp came up and he shot up it and out of the parking garage entirely. He entered the adjacent building through the "missing" windows on the second floor and braked, then turned off his cycle. A few seconds later, Sniper blasted in, quickly followed by Hawk with Tinker.

"Damn it! I have dishes!" Hawk swore.

"Those were some kickass moves, Killjoy! How the hell did you do that?" Tinker yelled.

"A magician never tells his secrets," was the reply she got.

"Ahhhh, come on! Don't be a bitch about it! You gotta tell me!" she pleaded.

"Fine. I'll tell. It was…luck, skill, and a strong understanding of the laws of physics," he said with a grin.

"But! But! You had to do something! You had to modify your cycle somehow!" she spluttered.

"No, actually, I didn't have to modify it. I just boosted the gravitational traction, kicked the emergency thrusters on, and cleaned the whole thing before and after each mission. Clean and check your gear before and after every mission. You and Hawk never clean or check your gear. That reminds me of something," he said with a frown. He pulled his helmet off and shook his head, his long, jet-black hair flying around his head like a mass of writhing snakes. He trotted over to the kitchen door and leaned in.

"Hawk, after you clean the dishes and we review and assess the mission, you need to clean your gear, your cycle, and your living quarters." He turned and started away, then stopped, his ears perked up to the sound of Hawk's voice.

"I ain't gotta do shit after I clean the damn dishes and we review and assess the fuckin' mission," Hawk muttered, mocking Killjoy.

His blood boiling, he stomped back to the kitchen and into the small room, the already warm room getting noticeably hotter.

"You think I was kidding," he roared. "Well guess what! I wasn't! That was an order, not a suggestion! If I have to, I'm going to make you clean every inch of grime from you gear, your hovercycle, and your goddamn quarters with your tongue!"

Hawk flinched at every word and put as much distance between himself and Killjoy as possible, his mud brown eyes locked in a titanic struggle which he wanted no part of with Killjoy's brilliantly blazing yellow-golden orbs.

"Are we clear?" he asked.

"Yes. I mean, Yes, sir," Hawk stuttered, obviously terrified of Killjoy's anger.

"Okay, then. Get back to work." He turned on his heel and marched out the door. He grabbed his helmet and his duffle bag and started towards the room he shared with Sniper.

"Hey, you didn't have to be so harsh on him, you know," said Tinker from behind.

Without breaking stride, he said over his shoulder, "I'm only looking out for him. If his gear fails in the field, he's screwed."

"And his room?" came her skeptical room.

"That shithole you call a room is starting to smell. Bad. Really bad."

"Oh. I'll go straighten my room up."

"Good. Clean your gear while you're at it."

"Yes, sir. …Sir?"

He turned and looked at Tinker. She had removed her helmet and her thick, beautiful, chestnut-brown tresses the hung down to her ample breasts framed her lovely face. As with so many times before, he found himself captive to her piercing, bright, emerald-green eyes. She seemed so delicate, like a fine china plate teetering on the edge of the table, yet he knew that delicacy was only skin deep. He had seen her snap a man's neck in two with her bare hands before and knew she wasn't afraid to do anything.

"Yes, Tinker? Is there something bothering you?" he asked.

She chewed nervously on her bottom lip for a few seconds, then came closer to him and looked up at him.

"I just wanted to thank you for saving me back there," she said gratefully.

Before he could reply or react, she reached up and pulled him to her and pressed her body up against his, kissing him lovingly. As quickly as she had come on, she disappeared as she brushed past him to her room. He stood there for many minutes, not knowing what to do. After what seemed to be hours and hours of contemplation, he decided it would be best to talk to someone who might know what to do: Sniper.

Author's Notes: I created all these characters. So don't steal them. I was inspired by HALO, Starship Troopers, and some other sci-fi things. R and R please.


End file.
